


It Could Definitely be Worse

by Annabeelee



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Gradual Transformation, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kaiju!Newt, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabeelee/pseuds/Annabeelee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt starts undergoing very strange, mysterious changes after they close the Breach, and nobody can actually identify what's going on with him. That is until he starts growing scales. And claws. Then it's pretty obvious what's happening to him. </p><p>Hermann is surprisingly accepting of all of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Month One: The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt and several fanart I've seen about kaiju!Newt, so here you go! First chapter is basically the set up/introduction. Please enjoy!

Let’s be real for a minute: this is not the weirdest thing that’s happened to him. Newton could probably think of at least two other times where, when thought about as a whole, things have been markedly weirder. A little swelling over 75% of his body is nothing but an allergic reaction to whatever it is Otachi pumped into him on that faithful night. At least he hopes.

 

Spoiler alert: It’s not an allergic reaction, and, fuck, he’ll soon wish it was.

 

2nd spoiler alert: Turns out, it actually _is_ the weirdest thing to ever happen to anyone in the existence of ever and Newt’s just gotten either really good at optimism or really good at lying to himself. Considering the whole Kaiju disaster, that’s saying something. Put that on a T-shirt because that’s absolutely profound considering the past decade. Maybe overlay it on a picture of a waterfall with salmon jumping upstream, the words ‘This is the weirdest shit that’s ever happened to me and I’m the world’s leading Kaiju expert’ emblazoned in eggshell white cursive.

 

Anyways.

 

It didn’t start until the day after, until they had closed the Breach and everyone had cheered and applauded and he and Hermann had hugged (that had been great, they should do that more, preferably naked) and everyone got blasted off of the cheap shit that they had stockpiled in an overtly confident way that Newt thought was totally awesome. He had woken up, hung over, happy, and itchy. Not completely out of the norm, but when he looked in the mirror, covered in red blotches over anywhere that was not already covered in ink, he started taking it a little more seriously.

 

Well, turns out it was a rash, having radiated from the magnificent bruise on his neck. Two days later, and that turns into a swelling, and by the end of the week, he’s blown up like a balloon over his arms, hands, legs, hips, ribs, and from his shoulders tapering down to his tail bone in this vague funnel shape that he only knows about because suddenly sleeping on his back is impossible.

 

His tattoos are stretched obscenely, which is possibly the most distressing part of it. Hermann kind of laughs at him when Newt expresses his distress, tells him he’s overreacting _again_ , and that it wouldn’t be a terrible thing if they went away anyways. Which is bullshit, because Newt knows now, he’s seen it all, in Hermann’s head. Not as averse to the ink as he’d like Newt to believe.

 

Along with that, if that wasn’t bad enough, his metabolism jacks itself up by about 200% (actual percentage is a guesstimate and he is not going to have Hermann actually calculate it, even if the idea sends him into a fit of giggles every time). In of itself, this is not a bad thing, because he’s not gaining any weight, just eating a lot, but the cafeteria staffing are getting a little peeved at him, as is Hermann because he keeps leaving wrappers and shit all over the lab or hotel room or wherever.

 

“I can’t feel pencils anymore.” He says one morning after dropping his fifth instrument in a row, nerves too stretched out from his swollen fingers to properly do anything with. Hermann snorts and tries to hide his laughter, and Newt glares at him before the sixth and final pencil falls from his hand onto the floor. “Damnit.”

 

He’s already visited the med team at the Shatterdome before they left on the media tour, who are all lovely people, Newt knows them all very well by now, and they couldn’t find anything more than he could. Then again, his symptoms are common if not strange, given the precision of the swelling. They really don’t have much to go off of and his white blood cell count is A-OK so all they can determine is that he is not ‘sick’, as far as they can tell. A closer look at about eight different samples found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary either yet he’s basically a human bubble at this point so what the fuck?

 

He gets a hold of Otachi’s tongue and a good chunk of its throat and examines the fuck out of it in a haste to find whatever the hell got pumped into him from the hidden proboscis in one of the many iridescent tendrils. The structure of the thing is impeccable and remarkable and it takes him almost a day to locate the pouch that is definitely link to the syringe-like part that had jammed itself into his neck in the public bunker. He followed like a total of eighty feet of tubes and vales and bypasses and that had been a good day, especially the murderous scowl Hermann had given him when he waved a little blue section of tongue in his face. He almost got a stapler thrown at his head for his effort, but then again he had maybe sort of thrown the little piece of tongue across the room.

 

In Hermann's direction.

 

The pouch is completely empty of course, which means fuck all for Newt. There’s not even a recognizably different or strange residue, and none of the micro-organisms found on the inside differ in the slightest from anything else that’s been pulled from a Kaiju. He’s right back where he started, which to say, is completely nowhere. Great.

 

Awesome.

 

The good thing to come out of all of this, well, there are like 18 million good things to come out of pausing humanity’s imminent doom, seriously, but the really good, perfect, 10/10, hell fucking **_yes_** is that he and Hermann are finally, definitely something. Something is about all he can call it because nothing’s really changed except now they can kiss and touch and shit, which is great, Newton’s definitely a big fan. Basically, as he sees it, instead of a faulty relationship based on arguing and pining, now it’s an intimate faulty relationship based on arguing, pining, and doing something about the pining.

 

They just added a few adjectives and verbs.

 

Though, as soon as they start this new dating thing or whatever, Newt swells up to twice his size and keeps alternating between ‘can’t feel anything’ to ‘even clothes hurt’. Not conducive for a physical encounter, especially the type he really wants to have with Hermann, he’s going to be honest, but the rest of it is good. Well, good’s the understatement of the _year_ because fuck if he hadn’t been wanting anything close to this for a while, but still, without getting too mushy and stupid over it, it’s been good.

 

Of course, with all the moving, clean up, media attention, and general hubbub over the world going ape shit over no more Kaiju, there really hasn’t been time for anything more than sleeping a bit and a miniscule amount of affectionate bullshit. Which is fine, because Newt honestly couldn’t get it up if he tried, and he has tried, as an experiment, mostly. Even his dick hurts, and the steady supply of ibuprofen is not doing a thing.

 

* * *

“Make it stop.” He whines, face down on the motel bed in some city somewhere. He’s honestly stopped keeping track about three stops ago. They have an interview in the morning he thinks but can’t quite bring it back to mind because it’s one of those nights where _everything_ is aching. Not even just his skin, but actual bone-deep radiating burning _and why is it doing that?_

 

Hermann’s been very sympathetic about the whole thing, not in words but in looks and general demeanor because words are not something either of them are good at, and touching either goes unnoticed or ends with Newt in more pain than he already was in depending on the night. Hermann didn’t even make any backhanded comments about the situation because a) it affected him too, (Newt saw in his head and wow, lots of shit in there that’s both very flattering and very not family friendly) and b) for once, it wasn’t Newt’s fault.

 

He got like this by listening to orders for once in his life, and it just so happened that Otachi was looking for him and loaded with a five inch needle filled with painful swelling juice. Okay, so he did technically alert the Kaiju to his presence, but that was still a technicality, and he was still doing what he was supposed to after not doing what he was supposed to so it actually clearly was not his fault.

           

Hermann even agreed. _Hermann_. Holy shit, stop the presses. Stuffy old Hermann agreed with Newton on something. Absolutely amazing.

 

“It can’t last forever, Newton. I’m sure it’ll be gone soon.” It’s the only thing he can really say, and while it isn’t the most helpful, Newt appreciates the effort.

 

“Ah man, but what if it doesn’t? What if I’m stuck like this forever? I’ll be a blimp for the rest of my life and you’ll have to deal with that and we’ll probably make it onto a tabloid which will be really fucking embarrassing because we’ll be getting milk or some shit and I’ll be on the front page next to Sasquatch or something.” It’s a real concern, not the tabloid part, but the permanence of whatever is happening to him. One no one wants to talk about, least of all him, but he’s got a plan. He’s got six doctorates, he drifted with two Kaiju, and saved the world. He can make a cure or whatever for this thing that’s happening to him. No problem.

 

Hermann just rolls his eyes, pecks him on the forehead, one of the few areas that does not, in fact, hurt at the moment, and leaves him to continue groaning on the bed about his stupid aching skin. In the morning, there will be interviews and questions, always the same ones.

 

What happened?

 

What was it like?

 

What now?

 

What now was rebuilding a world better prepared for something like giant ass monsters invading. What now was building up defenses for when the Breach reopens. What now was Hermann calculating exactly when that would be, where it would be, and re-writing the Jaeger programming. What now was Newt taking what they had left of the Kaiju and what they learned from the Drift and finding more uses, more weakness, more of _anything_ , because that rift would be reopened since the Kaiju Overlords were probably pissed beyond measure and rallying what _they_ had learned and beefing up _their_ end for a counter attack.

 

Nobody was questioning the Breach opening again. Well, not the sane people. Okay, not the _mostly_ sane people. Wars don’t seem to end well without a truce, or some kind of agreement, or a complete genocide, and humanity kind of just put a pause on the whole ordeal in order to get a little breathing room and time to regroup. They would do better this time, even fucking better than last time, and holy shit, if Newt wasn’t excited about it.

 

* * *

Three and a half weeks into being a walking talking tomato, the swelling recedes over the course of two days, leaving his skin loose and dry and _itchy_. Fuck, does he itch like crazy, constantly scratching himself where the epidermis has formed into a shape that looks a bit like bark and feels a bit like leather. Which means, instead of being a Newt balloon, he looks like a really shitty tree. Or the rhinoceros man. Sign him up for the freak show, cause he's going to be the star attraction.

 

The strangest part is, underneath this sagging strange new skin suit, which was oddly thick considering it was just skin, what should be muscle feels rough and hard. He spends a good three hours just prodding his body at different points, trying to judge what in the fuck is going on with him.

 

“Stop poking at it.” Hermann snaps at him after two days of saggy Newt. Saggy Newt, as it were, was a lot less grumpy and whiney and a lot more ‘what in the fuck-‘.

 

“No, seriously. Try it.” He holds out his arm from where he was perched on Hermann’s desk, munching obnoxiously on chips and making sure to get them all over the desk. They’re at a different Shatterdome, finally over with all the news stations and journalists and lectures for now. Hermann scoffs, a very common thing, and turns away.  

 

“You’re honestly five years old.”

 

“Yeah, but you love me anyways.” Newt says with a grin, and Hermann doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and grumbles to himself which makes Newt grin even wider. He’s been in Hermann’s head. He knows.

 

* * *

Three days into tree bark-leather skin, and his fingernails fall off, which, let’s be real again, was really fucking freaky, Newt having screamed at the tops of his lungs when the first two of his nails plunked off after washing his hands. Because out of everything that’s happened over the past few weeks, that had been scary as fuck.

 

You honestly don’t notice fingernails that much until their falling off of their own accord, Newt finds.

 

Hermann had come as quickly into his room as his leg would let him, finding Newt on the floor clutching his hands and staring at them in abject horror. The tops of his fingers are pale as the rest of him, no evidence of there ever being a nail there. No blood or mess or pain, just nails no longer attached to his hands. It was like a terrible nightmare, except it was actually fucking happening, and Hermann had helped him up and taken him to the new med team, who were all very anxious at the sight.

 

Also very irritated around him because this group was not used to Newt in any way, shape, or form. Which is completely understandable.

 

Again, nothing found wrong except, obviously, his nerves are frazzled beyond reason and he keeps picking at the loose skin on his forearms, wondering what could cause it. He couldn’t feel a thing he was doing to his arms or shoulders or anywhere that had once been swollen, at least on the surface. Pressing into what should be muscle and fat yielded a muted sense of pressure and all Newt really wants to do is test this out, but he’s exhausted and scared and ends up falling asleep halfway through the day on one of the hospital beds.

 

He wakes up refreshed and confused because like two nurses are just kind of staring at his hands in mixed horror. Turns out, he’s growing claws and the skin on his hand is starting to peel back to reveal fresh grey-blue scales.

 

Well, at least the increase in metabolism starts to make a little more sense.

 


	2. Day 31-33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. Please forgive me.

 

There was a time, before Trespasser appeared in San Francisco, when Newt had woken up 18 miles away from his apartment with no recollection of how he got there, in a doggy bed, and covered in glitter with two peoples phone numbers stuck his pocket. At that point, when he had stumbled awake and the person who owned the house he was in had greeted him with pancakes and laugh, Newt had honestly thought he had reached the apex in ‘waking up to weird shit’. The ultimate. There was nothing that could beat that. Even Kaiju appearing out of nowhere a few months later did not shake him as much as that did.

 

12 years into the future, he wakes up on a hospital bed, with two nurses gaping at him because he actually ripped three gashes into the rubber mattress with newly acquired claws just peeping out of his fingertips and the skin on his hand is just starting to shed to reveal fresh new scales. Thinking back, Newt can honestly say that he was a dumbass to think the drunken rendezvous was anything compared to the past decade because this shit right here is something for the history books.

 

He and the nurses take a moment to stare at each other and at the claws and at each other before Newton sits up gingerly, the grating pull of the loose, _shedding_ , skin making him yelp as he moves his body. He’s had lizards and snakes before as pets and knows from both a hands on standpoint and an educated one what’s happening to his body, and it’s simultaneously freaky and cool as fuck. And also very painful.

 

“We’ll-we’ll have to make a report-“ The older nurse tells him, a little less dumbfounded than her male counterpart and taking this whole thing in with a clear attitude of 'spent way too many years being a nurse to be phased by any of this'.

 

“Yeah, no. I kind of- just give me like, three days or something and-“ Newt babbles. A report, yeah, no kidding. Newt's going to be making like eight, four of which will be incoherent, three other’s will be considered ‘fawning’ if Hermann gets a hold of them, and the last will be hidden away because it’d probably win him an award and _way_ more media attention than he can handle right now.

 

Rockstar is one thing. Subject for dissection, imprisonment, study, inhumane treatment, and more dissection is another one entirely.

 

“No, that’s- I’ll wait. We can wait.” They all just kind of nod and agree because this is actually kind of awkward and Newt’s starting to sweat under the weight of his not-really-his-skin-anymore skin and he keeps flinching whenever he moves. The male nurse makes a clicking noise with his mouth, eyebrows raising before he turns to Newt.

 

“Are you hungry?” Well, fuck yeah he is. Turns out, the med team here is very nice. Also good at cooking. Also very good at being covert. Newt likes that in a medical staff.

 

* * *

 

Newt holes himself in his room, and it takes Hermann exactly thirty-two hours to find him again, which, by default, means Newt has thirty-two hours to psyche himself out about the whole situation. Thirty-two hours of hiding in his room, shivering on his cot and trying to keep down the food some of the nurses, bless them, bring him cause he’s fucking hungry but the shock and aching and discomfort have him vomiting every few hours.

 

The claws grow steadily; he keeps measuring them as any good scientist should. They stop after the first day, about an inch and a half long and jutting from where his once fingernails had been, making _everything_ that much harder to do. Mingled with the thick still-drying plating now covering his hands and arms, he feels stiff and incapable. He can’t even scratch his stomach without gouging himself open.

 

The plating is more of a slate grey when it dries, becoming darker and darker and harder and harder with every hour. He had almost sobbed when the first strip of dead skin had come off of his forearm and his tattoos were nowhere to be seen. Upon closer inspection, the faint outlines of the kaiju could still be seen imbedded in his new coating. They did darken slightly given enough time, and Newt could calm down a bit. The tattoos were still hard to make out, but definitely there, and that’s all he needed.

 

Still, he looks fucking awesome, even if he kind of has to be careful as fuck touching himself anywhere that still has skin. He’s been taking pictures every time another strip of scales is revealed to document this whole process. Newt will need it all to go over, and to prove to anyone this actually happened if it just goes away all of a sudden. Thankfully, he has a few snapshots from the media tour and one he took of himself as a joke when the swelling went down with Hermann looking very grumpy in the shot.

 

Newt’s planning a scrapbook once this is all over.

* * *

 

He’s actually a nervous wreck when Hermann finds him, finally, every negative thought possible running through his head from both paranoia, (understandable considering what he thinks is happening) and a judicious application of caffeine and nothing to help work that off. The eventual knock on his door almost has him hitting his head on the ceiling. He knows it isn’t a nurse, because they were just here, so no matter who’s at the door, he’s fucked.

 

Newt throws on a coat, the large one that’s been just lying on his floor for God knows how long now, nearly starts crying at the feeling of clothes for the first time in a day and half cause he’s been shirtless for as long (clothes hurt right now, cut him some slack), before hopping over to the door, wincing as his steadily swelling feet twinge with every step.

 

“Hold on, hold on!” He shouts, clambering for the handle and peering out of the peephole. He regrets that immediately.

 

“Newton! Open this door!” Hermann’s about ready to break it down himself, which Newt would find really funny if he wasn’t currently _changing_ like something out of old B-movies. He’s suddenly reconsidering making a public appearance.

 

“I don’t think that’s a great idea, dude.” He says loudly, claws scraping nervously on the door. He can’t really feel himself doing that, but it’s a comfort nonetheless.

 

“Oh for God’s sake. You’re not contagious!” Hermann yells back.

 

“I could be! I very well could be! We don’t know what’s wrong!”

 

“Open the bloody door or I’ll find someone to break it down!” He'll do it too. Newt knows from experience. June of 2021 was a really interesting month.

 

“Okay, okay. Fine. Don’t get your cane in a knot, Jesus.” Hermann pushes past him the moment the way is clear, leaning a bit more heavily on his cane than usual. Did something happen? What did Newt miss while he was wallowing away in his room and coincidentally morphing into an interdimensional monster/human hybrid thing?

 

“Is that my coat?” Newt looks down at his arms, sees the atrocious green circus tent of a coat that dwarfs his hands, and realizes that yes, this is the same coat that Hermann has had for fuck knows how long and the same one Newt has had a love/hate relationship since then. He has a vague memory of snatching it a few weeks ago and can't really remember exactly why he did.

 

“There’s a possibility.” Newt tells him, “Not that I’m saying it is, but, uh, in a broad generalization, there’s a good chance that yes, this is yours.” Hermann rolls his eyes before gesturing at the thing expectedly.

 

“Take it off. Let me see what’s happened.”

 

“Ah, man, can we skip that step?-“

 

“Newton, I’ve talked to the medical staffing-“

 

“I mean, I know your keen me being naked, but now’s not a great time for it, uh-“

 

“-Aggravating my leg for two days with your stress-“

 

“We could totally skip this, dude. Let’s just-“

 

“For the love of God, take off the damned coat!” Newt doesn’t know if it’s the tone or the way Hermann looks dangerously close to keeling over, but he’s shuffling out of his clothing faster than that one time he set himself on fire. _That_ had been an awesome day.

 

“Holy shit, okay. Just, uh, sit down or something, alright?” Hermann frowns and huffs, but does as told, and Newt can relax a bit knowing that if he faints or something, he doesn’t have far to go.

 

When he finally has the damn thing off, more of a struggle than needed and he nearly made himself cry from the way it pulled on the dead skin of his shoulders, Newt found Hermann did not, in fact, faint, pale, yell or do much of anything but stare at him with that same stupidly endearing frog-like expression he almost always has on. Which is both a relief and a disappointment.

 

So Newt just kind of stands there and fidgets, clicking his newly acquired claws together in a nervous twitch he’s most certainly starting to develop. Hermann stares for about a minute, scrutinizing and sighing, softly.

 

“Sit down, please.” Hermann pats the spot next to him and Newt is more than grateful to comply. The cot is small, which is usually not a big deal until two grown men try to fit on it and one of them is trying to keep a certain amount of distance in order to keep the other from even remotely touching his newly acquired scales.

 

“I didn’t know it was hurting you too, man.” He really didn’t. Side effects of their impromptu Drift were kind of wonky, and so far strong emotions and really prominent thoughts still make the jump between them. Newt had wanted to test it out, _extensively_ , but, you know, the whole mutating thing got in the way. But just a little.

 

“It’s certainly hasn’t been anything to get worked up over, but it would be helpful if you didn’t hide away and then bribe the nurses into secrecy.” Newt grins at that, cause, really, he did do that, but it wasn’t a bribe, more of a bet and the fact that Hermann still found him after all of the misdirection was pretty impressive. A+ for Hermann.

 

“Oh come on! That was funny!” Newt tells him when Hermann starts to actively glare. As opposed to all of the passive glaring he does. He has it mastered, really. It’s more of  an art form than anything.

 

Hermann calls him insufferable, Newt calls him a grumpy old man, ‘like no seriously, you’re old. How does that work?’ And for those few minutes of bickering about nothing but each other, everything seems normal again. Then Hermann puts a hand over his, and Newt is suddenly reminded of why they’re even having this conversation.

 

“It could be worse.” Hermann says after a moment of quiet, hand warm over Newt’s.

 

“What? How?” He can’t feel the hand too much, with how thick the scales are, and it honestly shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

 

“I could name several ways, given the time and your infamous amount of patience.” Newt groans, cause Hermann is trying to be placating and is trying to funny, but that’s not necessary because _it’s not going to help_. Why isn't he freaking out more?

 

“Dude, I’m literally changing species. Like, I don’t think I’m even human anymore! Or at least I won’t be.” He lifts his other hand to look at it because this isn’t his hand. His hand was flesh and callouses and too many burn scars and micro cuts and uneven fingernails. And as metal as this is, it’s not as ideal as he thought/dreamed it might be. Which he did have a few (a lot) of dreams where something like this happened.

          

“To be frank, I’ve been living under the assumption you’d try to do something like this for years now. The fact that this change is completely involuntary is honestly the most shocking thing about it.”

 

“You’re serious?” Hermann shrugs, the hint of a grin tugging his lips.

 

“Mostly.”

 

“No, you’re not. I can’t believe you’d lie to me. At a time like this!” Newt starts giggling, for the first time in days, Hermann right there with him. It’s nice. Actually, no, it’s fucking great because the last few weeks have been hell on toast and it’s a godsend to be able to find something funny about it.

 

He lets his head fall onto Hermann’s shoulder, seeing how his head is one of the few places that has held onto its nerve endings. Even his legs are starting to numb a bit, and he can only imagine, (which he has, a lot) what will come next. Hermann shuffles a little closer and squeezes his hand.

 

“It’ll be fine.” He says. Newt snorts, but doesn’t shoot him down.

 

“You’re not going to run off with someone better looking? Granted, I’m fucking great even with a few blemishes, but I’d understand if, uh, you find someone a little less scaley.”

           

“I’ve stuck with you this long.” He presses his nose into the Newt’s hair. “No sense in leaving now.”

 

“Even if I grow eight stories tall and start wrecking the place? Cause, dude, I’d do that. In, like, a heartbeat.”

 

“We’ll see if it gets to that.” Newt gives a humming noise, too exhausted to be bouncing around, content to have Hermann lightly stroking the soft palm of his hand. Good news, that’s still somewhat sensitive along the edge of his hand and his palm where the scales are thinner.

 

“Can you feel that?” Hermann asks when Newt shivers.

 

“A little.” A lot, really. His eyelids droop shut at the feeling and he almost wants to start purring. “It’s nice but this has really fucked up my grip. I’ll probably have to relearn how to use, like, everything now. It’s going to be fucking awful dude. This whole thing’s awful.”

 

“At least you kept some semblance of the tattoos.” Hermann responds quietly. Newt’s eyes fly open and he looks down to where Hermann is somberly tracing the vague outlines of what had once been his lovingly detailed ink in the exact same way Newt had done not a few hours before.

 

_Holy shit._

 

Newt’s kissing him. Actually grabbing Hermann and stupidly kissing him because _Jesus_ Hermann shouldn’t be allowed to do things like that. He’s mindful of the claws, hopes that he didn’t rip anything or else Hermann will actually kill him because the other man is frozen next to him.

 

“Oh my God,” Newt says when he pulls back, before diving right back in, Hermann stunned and looking like he was wondering what in the hell he had even done- “I can’t- How are you even real?” Newt tells him between kisses and trying not to gouge open his shoulder, and then Hermann finally _finally_ gets it, his cane clattering to the floor, and then their actually doing this shit properly, with tongues and teeth and a little breathy noise Hermann makes and _fucking finally_.

 

Turns out though, growing scales and claws and shit is not conducive for making out. Or anything really. Also, apparently the sudden rush of blood to his already swollen dick is not having the desired effect seeing how it actually _worsens the situation_. So one touch to his crotch and Newt is almost blacking out from it.

 

“Shit, wait. Wait!” Newt jumps away, the burst of pain white hot and inconveniently placed. Hermann scrambling to his feet too, gaping, concerned.

 

“Did I- I didn’t-?” Newt waves him off, doubled over, but that kind of hurts too.

 

“No, Jesus fuck, no. I just- fuck!” Newt groans, stumbling and then hissing when that pulls something. “Just give me a minute-“ There’s a lot of panting, (mostly on his part), awkward shuffling, (Hermann’s part) and generally not looking at each other.

 

* * *

 

“Would you like me to stay the night?” Hermann asks, later when Newt is able to think past ‘oh fuck my crotch hurts’. Hermann's voice is still rougher than usual and his cheeks are still flushed with jsut a tinge of pink. If Newt wasn’t pretty damn sure that his dick was going to fall off any minute, he might’ve jumped Hermann again.

 

“Yeah, I mean, no. I-“ He groans and waves his new claws around vaguely in the air and towards the cot behind them where the sheets are now ribbons, basically. Turns out, his involuntary reflex to grab a hold of things and squeeze really tightly while sleeping is now eight times more deadly. As much as he wants to strangle Hermann sometimes, the last thing Newt wants is to actually hurt him.

 

Well, no, the last thing Newt wants is to find out this has been all some sick sort of dream and that he’s still stuck with the prospects of a normal boring job without giant monsters, giant robots, and stuffy mathematicians. But hurting Hermann definitely rates really fucking low.

 

“Basically, _that_.” Newt says, pointing to the cot and nodding sympathetically at Hermann’s bug-eyed expression. Hadn’t even thought about that, had he? Point for Newt. Not that the points actually matter since Newt lost count about a month ago and he can't remember what he was keeping points for  _and_ he’s pretty sure Hermann is like seven up on him, but still.

 

Point for Newt.

 

They agree on Hermann bringing him breakfast in the morning, and kiss about five more times, before Hermann finally leaves in a flustered huff and Newt collapses on his cot, giggling and content. Turned out much better than he expected. No one fainted, everybody’s somewhat happy, and he got cockblocked by his own cock. Awesome.

 

He examines his feet when he calms down, seizing up at how bloated they’ve become over the past two days of strict ‘no shoes or socks’ policy. They smart from standing and look a bit like sausages but Newt shrugs it off, clicking his claws together and humming, already thinking about the future.

 

He’ll figure this all out once he can put on clothes again and make the trek to the lab without people seeing that he’s the monster from the black lagoon. If the Kaiju fucklords can make a human/Kaiju hybrid, well then, he can fucking reverse it and get on with his life. Easy peasy. No problem. Nobel prize. Go team go.

 

3rd spoiler alert: It’s not that easy peasy. And there are a fuck ton of problems.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are awesome and I love hearing your thoughts. Next chapter, the rating will probably go up, so warning for that.


	3. Month 2-3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating and tags. This may or may not happen again.

“Can you scratch my back?” Hermann visibly tenses, the hand writing upon the chalkboard stopping mid-letter.

 

“Excuse me?” Newt clacks his claws together nervously, fingers drumming the talons in a random senseless rhythm. He’s gotten more dexterous now that his arms and shoulders are done shedding and have dried completely. While his legs are still trying their best to get catch up to his arms and his feet _hurt_ like, a lot, but he’s doing a bit better.

 

“Ah, come on. Please?” Newt begs, stepping closer as Hermann starts writing again.

 

“You have talons now. Scratch yourself.” Okay, yeah, so he’s still mad about the gouge marks in the lower half of the chalkboard. Honestly, that hadn’t been Newt’s fault. Mostly. Hermann did push him against it, and apparently while enthusiastically making out and trying not to slice open his unofficial significant other, Newt had opted instead to scratch the surface behind him.

 

Which had coincidentally been the chalkboard. At least the terrible scraping noise had stopped them before his dick did this time.

 

“I keep cutting myself, dude!” It’s true. He’s covered in bandages from where he forgot about the inch and a half long talons jutting out of his fingers now. Usually, Hermann’s a little more sympathetic, but seeing how getting a new chalkboard is going to take another week and Newt refuses to apologize for ruining this one-

 

He throws himself over Hermann’s back, clinging as best he can while not using his hands. A litany of ‘please’ and ‘its itches so bad’ and ‘I promise not to ruin the next chalkboard’ spew from his mouth in an effort to make Hermann cave by either a) empathy or b) irritation. It’s anyone’s guess which one wins out.

 

“Get off me!” Newt backs off as Hermann turns around, schooling his face into a low-level glare before he gives Newt a once over. “Why are you standing like that?”

 

Newt looks down at his feet, where he’s perched on his toes as best he can. “It hurts to extend my ankles and walk normally.” He tells Hermann sheepishly, who sighs in response.

 

“Of course it does. Well, turn around.” Newt hops to it, practically vibrating from how badly he itches. His back feels hot and achy and squirmy, which are all valid scientific terms, he’s used them loads of times, and he’s starting to consider re-opening the Breach himself so he can ask the scientific minds responsible for this if he can just get the fast acting version.

 

Granted, this seems a bit quick from a not-guinea pig perspective, but still it also seems to be taking for-fucking-ever and Newt would like to get on with his life-

 

“Newton…” Hermann stalls, his hands just brushing Newt’s sides and interrupting his train of thought.

 

“What? I know. My back looks like a murder scene. No need to rub it in. More scratchy, less talkie, please.”

 

“When exactly was the last time you looked at your back?” Newt shrugs, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“Not for like, three days. Why? What’s-“ He catches Hermann’s wide-eyed expression and dread makes his stomach out. “What happened?”

 

* * *

 

They end up back in the infirmary, and the nurses and the doctor just kind of shake their heads at him. There’s a bulbous lump now occupying his spine and the immediate area around it, running all the way down to his tailbone. How he missed it over the course of those 72 hours and Hermann finding it is indicative of how badly this has fucked with his nerves.

 

He gets an X-ray, and, turns out, he’s growing a tail. A literal fucking tail. No, he didn’t believe it either at first.

 

“What?” He grabs the film out of the doctor’s hands, a sleepy woman who could probably nap through a Kaiju attack and not even stir, and holds it up to the light. “No fucking way.”

 

The spine- _his spine-_ was duplicating itself, actually replicating itself for a whole new limb right on his back. Well, okay, that’s a lie. Whatever is causing his forced evolution, (it’s what he’s calling it now since apparently ‘mighty kaiju morphing’ is not ‘scientifically sound’), has it coded for the cells in his bones to create an entirely new non-human limb while using his spine as a starting point.

 

“That’s insane.” He says to himself the third night of the bulb appearing. Hermann’s still scribbling away across the room and Newt’s using a backlight to just stare at the films. Human anatomy has never really been his favorite _thing_ but, wow. He just has to sit there and study it a bit, wondering if he can talk the med staff into an M.R.I. or at least an ultrasound.

 

Newt has to ask himself if he should really be this shocked, given the past month and a half. Doesn’t stop him, definitely doesn’t stop him from reaching back to try and run a hand over the bulbous surface, to feel for what the x-ray was showing him. He could make out the ridges of the bones forming themselves, but that’s a about it. Firmer examination was painful, and he’s having enough of that for a lifetime, thank you very much.

 

“I’m going to look so fucking awesome.” He says to no one and Hermann tries to hide a laugh behind his hand. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, dude. You’re the one loving a kaiju now.”

 

“Given you’re usual destructive habits and the fact that you are registered menace to society-“

 

“Hey, look, that was one time, and, like, no one can actually prove anything-“

 

“I don’t really see how you growing a tail is going to be much different from before.” Hermann finishes while Newt continues to babble about that _one time_ that Hermann wouldn’t even know about if they hadn’t hooked themselves up to the Kaiju brain. He’s got so much more ammo now.

 

“Ha, ha. You’re so fucking funny.” Newt rolls his eyes, and they can go back to their respective work, Hermann smirking to himself.

 

Newt lets him have it, already setting up the camera to take a shot of his back for documentation purposes. Later, when Hermann brought him back dinner, (he’s still under a lockdown of sorts. Don’t want to freak out the whole place), he’d be completely obnoxious and argumentative, but right now, he’s content to let Hermann stew in his verbal victory.

             

* * *

 

Within two days, he can’t walk from the pain in his feet. They give him a wheelchair after Hermann decidedly will not let him use one of his canes, (‘Ah, come on, you have like five!’ ‘I have two, need I remind you, leftover from the two you broke.’ ‘I only broke one. That acid thing was Mako’s fault, dude.’) Apparently two broken canes, and he’s off of the borrowing list. Hermann also makes a point to grumble about all of the glasses Newt has broken, along with countless chairs, desks, and now, a chalkboard.

 

Granted, these are good reasons but still. Very cruel of Hermann to be so careless of his plight.

 

So Newt is wheelchair bound while they wait for the feet and legs to shed. During this time, the report is sent in from the medical staff and he and Hermann wait with bated breath for the PDCC to respond. That could take a while, and Newt’s hoping for it to get lost in a paper trail before it hits anyone’s desk.

 

“What if they take me away? What if they lock me up? I can’t be locked up, I got shit to do! More Kaiju could come through and I’d be locked in a cell hooked up to every machine in the world with a bunch of stuffy old dudes pointing at me with clipboards, harrumphing or some shit whenever I move.” He bemoaned, trying his best to examine his own skin sample for the hundredth time, but his claws keep slipping on the microscope. He can’t be very precise with these things.

           

“You are a necessity more than ever seeing how we have a limited amount of time before the Breach re-opens. I highly doubt they’ll stow you away like a circus freak for the scientific community to marvel at.” Hermann tells him distractedly, currently editing their last paper on the impromptu Drift, and subsequent findings. This one was for the public, thus much entertaining. As opposed to the government mandated one that was drier than the Sahara Desert.

 

Hermann actually did most of the work on this one, which Newt wasn’t a fan of, but there wasn’t much he could do. Unable to hold a pencil and being unable to type, he just had to dictate and hope most of it didn’t get lost in translation. Of course, he did try to type at first, but the budget committee said if he broke anymore keyboards, they were cutting his ‘equipment replacement’ expense.

 

Assholes.

 

Giving up the microscope as a lost cause for now until he gets used to the insensitive new hands, Newt rolled over to Hermann’s desk, careful not to hit his legs on anything because the last time he did that had resulting in more howling than the Shatterdome’s noise levels allowed. He threw an arm around Hermann as soon as he was close enough, having done this enough times in the past few days to know how to be careful with the rough plating.

 

It also helps that Hermann wears like eighteen layers at all times. Newt did try to file down his claws, but turns out the quick in them is pretty close to the point, and he really doesn’t need an infection in his fingers along with the complete makeover.

 

“You’re really comforting. Like, holy shit, I feel so much better now.” He tells Hermann, leaning against him and reading over his shoulder. It’s an awkward position, but one he’s taken up numerous times in his need for attention. He likes physical contact, a lot, and this whole situation has been not been helping that in any way shape or form. Still, he and Hermann are getting better at it now that his arms are no longer hurting like crazy and now that they actually have time to themselves.

 

He nuzzles Hermann’s neck, humming to himself. He wants to be closer, fuck, he really does, but there’s too much shit that goes down whenever they try anything. Hermann doesn’t seem to mind the waiting, but he’s better at prolonged celibacy than Newt is. At least Newt has the fiery ache in ‘less than fortunate places’ to help him along.

 

“I am trying to concentrate.” Hermann tells him, no real venom in his voice when Newt starts pressing soft kisses to his jaw. Newt smiles, happy to continue as he is, noticing that the continuous clacking of the keyboard has stopped. Hermann turns his head, nosing along Newt’s temple in a surprisingly affectionate manner. “You’re being very distracting.” Hermann murmurs into his skin, softly, warmly.

 

“Good, yeah. Let’s be distracting some more.” Newt kisses him, but Hermann doesn’t allow it to last nearly as long as Newt wants it to, instead pulling away and sighing.

 

“Unless you want to finish this, and thereby ruin any chances of getting your new lab equipment-“ Newt groans, pushing himself off and throwing his hands in the air.

 

“They’ve already got a report from us. Why do we need, like, eight different ones?” Newt leaves him, rolling over to side of the lab. They put up a new line on the floor with the move, and no one’s questioned it with their reputation preceding them, but the rules have change ever so slightly. Newt is allowed on Hermann’s side and vice versa, but all material that has any sort of Kaiju origin is strictly forbidden in the ‘Gottlieb Zone’.

 

“You know why. Don’t ask idiotic questions.” Newt sticks his tongue out, mocking Hermann silently to himself.

 

With all of this sitting around and being unable to burn off his usual reckless energy, Newt has been having a bit of a mischievous streak, of which mostly Hermann has suffered from. With that energy acting up again, Newt grabs the Kaiju blue mixture (one which is highly acidic and he’s very proud of that) he’s had sitting around for eons now, a nifty little thought popping into his head about whether or not he could use it for something particularly ‘destructive’, as Hermann calls him, and clever-

 

“Newton, if you so much as touch that acid solution right now, there will be no force on earth that will be able to put you back together!” Hermann yells across the lab, not even looking up from the computer.

 

“Ha, I got wheels now, Hermy. I want to see you try and catch me!” Newton hollers back, already zipping along to Hermann’s side.

 

“Newton!”

 

Newt learns on this day that in a battle between acid and Hermann, Hermann will always be the victor.

 

The second thing he learns is that while the plating on his arms are thick and while the pain receptors are now buried under said thick plating, Hermann’s cane, when used expertly, still hurts like a bitch. Also, Hermann’s desk is not acid proof. Neither are Newt’s scales. Or the new chalkboard.

 

That day had been very educational.

 

* * *

 

He actually gets to watch the moment the talon on his left big toe tears through the dead skin surrounding it, how the flesh immediately starts to peel back and how the next nine follow suit within two hours. This time, he’s ready for the arduous shedding process, and spend two whole days in his room, pantsless and miserable. The change here is differs, however, in how his feet have changed and Newt finally knows why he couldn’t walk for a whole fucking week and why his feet felt like where slowly splitting in half.

 

The ankle is now unable to extend at all, almost non-existent, leaving him to walk only on the balls of his feet and his toes. Toes that, wouldn’t you know it, have extended themselves, elongated almost an entire inch to resemble a reptilian appendage with the thick black talons growing ever forward from their tips. So now, when he walks, shakily at first as it takes him a while to get used to the imbalance of not having that other half of his foot and to also rebuild the muscle in his legs from not using them for a week, he looks like he’s wearing invisible eight inch pumps.

 

Yes, he does know what he looks like when he wears eight inch pumps. No, he’s not particularly happy as to why, mostly because he lost a bet and also broke his ankle. Though the pictures of this particular event are fucking great.

 

Newton surmises with the tail, once it pops out of the place on his back, will make walking a hell of a lot easier. The extra balance will keep him grounded and he’ll need that extra support if Hermann doesn’t want him to be his cane buddy.

 

When the legs shed, so does his pelvic region, and that is something Newt would like to forget, because for the past month, his genitals have been swollen to an alarming point, and then they started to _fucking recede back into his body_. For a very short window, (about three hours), Newt had wondered if he was switching sexes. Not that he would mind too much, but, honestly, he’d like some choice in that decision.

 

Thankfully, that idea got tossed out the window when his crotch had shed. Well, a little after that, because when he peeled off the dead skin, (carefully, so fucking carefully), there had been a vertical slit, flat against his skin that was enclosed as far as he could see. So, as any good researcher would do, he took a hand mirror and with extreme caution and lying on his side, he used the soft underside of his fingers to probe the new parts.

 

First, he tried to find a vaginal canal, he really did. Even though he had an ultrasound and another x-ray to see the tail grow at an alarming rate, and even though neither of those showed any extra organs being grown as well, he still needed to know, and needed to know _now_ if he needed to start buying extra, sex-specific hygiene products.

 

Instead of any female genitalia, Newt found something much, much different. Pressing carefully along the seam, he found it almost impenetrable. It was not wide or loose, and with each pass over with his finger and his palm, it becomes more and more sensitive. Checking the mirror, he sees something twitch and he shudders, his cheeks already flushed and his breath coming in quicker.

 

While it’s technically masturbation, he’s doing it for science too. Science always comes first.  

 

“What in the fu-“ He’s cut off when something, a tendril, dark grey-blue, vaguely tentacle-shaped, and shining with an unknown substance, presses into his finger. While he can’t feel it as this new part wraps carefully around his digit, he can feel with startling clarity the soft scales rubbing against the tendril and he cries out from the feeling. “F-fuck!”

 

The tendril seeks the heat from his hand, eagerly feeling its way around his palm and another appears out of the slit, and another, until there’s four of the things undulating and rubbing against him. He’s panting, the heat and pleasure clouding his mind as he lifts his hips weakly, trying not to rip into his sheets (again) with his feet yet needing more friction as the tendril grow ever more restless and engorge from the blood rushing to his pelvis.

 

They’re sensitive, and Newt makes tiny whining noises every time one of the tips of the tendrils presses too hungrily against his thighs. They seek the warmth, they seek smooth and plush places, and Newt knows, in the back of his mind, the tendrils are looking for skin as they rub eagerly against him. They do find his stomach, which is still blessedly human, but it's not enough. He gasps, trying to reign in his thoughts to control them, but he can’t. These things have a mind of their own and Newt ends up just giving in, pressing his palm firmly against them.

 

He lets out a low moan, rubbing as gently as he can because the last thing he needs to do is fuck up his new _whatever_ but, fuck, if it doesn’t feel good. He wants to be rough, pent up and horny from almost two months without this, wants to grasp them like he could with his dick. The scales catch though, and the tendrils shrink away from his fingers despite Newt’s need to find some kind of release _right fucking now_.

 

The tendrils are practically drooling by now, the slippery fluid covering his thighs, hand, and stomach as they rub desperately against him. He tries to speed it along, but the care in which he takes and the awkward angle, it only leaves him frustrated on the precipice of climaxing but he needs more, something, anything.

 

Newt doesn’t notice as one, the longest, prods down, past the engorged slit, whimpering as it feels along his cleft until the thing is pressing into his ass with more vigor than he can honestly muster up for himself right now. He cries out when it thrusts in because, _fuck, he’s fucking himself,_ and the feeling of the tendril moving in and out of him is a godsend.

 

It’s an embarrassingly short run after that, with the dual sensation of fucking into his own tight hole and getting fucked, before the heat in his groin and abdomen coils and bursts into the first orgasm he’s had in _weeks_. He nearly blacks out from it, back arching, mouth open in a high-pitched whine, and the tendrils pressing and squirming wildly.

 

It takes almost five minutes to calm down, still twitching, still with the tremors making him quake as he gasps and the tendrils wriggle feebly on his thigh and his stomach. They recede, slowly, and Newt watches in an exhausted curiosity, the fluid on his scales cooling rapidly in the open air as his body temperature lowers to something around normal, whatever that is anymore.

 

By the time the tendrils are back in their slit, Newt’s falling asleep, too worn out physically and mentally to care about the mess he’ll probably have to deal with in the morning, but they invented showers for a reason, and he’s not fucking bothering with that right now. As he turns into his pillow, which has surprisingly survived all of this, Newt giggles a bit to himself before groaning.

 

Well, that went much better than he thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual OTP: Newt/Tentacles
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
